


the corner

by mangozaya



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, even i cant quite figure it out and i wrote their dynamic, have this friends to lovers to exes to mutuals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28589313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangozaya/pseuds/mangozaya
Summary: Changbin’s never quick enough. Chan always finds himself coming back to this particular diner when Changbin’s contact lights up his phone at an unreasonable hour, and Changbin gladly entangles them both into a nasty,selfishpattern.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Seo Changbin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	the corner

“You ended up changing your major, then?”

Chan’s question is kind but stilted, as if he doesn’t have the right to ask it, but Changbin doesn’t immediately acknowledge him. The ice in Changbin’s chipped cup quickly melts into lukewarm tap water, and Changbin’s made it his mission to swirl the ice until it mildly dissolves into smaller squares. There’s no metaphor to be found in the ice chips. Changbin’s just not ready to meet Chan’s eyes. It’s easier for him to follow the trail of condensation that pools at the base of his untouched water, slipping neatly between the cracks of two tables that were pushed together, creating a quiet corner for two strangers.

Changbin knows that four years of radio-silence out of university can only create—at best, and maybe for the worst—a pair of strangers, but Chan greets him like an old friend, and somehow that hurts more than the blank shutter Changbin had expected. Raising his arm in an initial greeting had felt _a_ _bit_ heavy, nodding politely to the waitress as she had seated them was _somewhat_ heavy, but ordering his regular coffee while knowing Chan’s milkshake preference by heart had felt a bit like watching a violin string snap from added tension.

Everything seems to weigh a little heavier on his shoulders these days.

The ice has reduced to smaller chips, and Changbin wishes they would melt quicker.

“I stayed another semester.”

Silence weaves itself into the frayed edges of the uncomfortable cushion he’s seated at the edge of, the wooden beam digging painfully into his knees. Changbin hasn’t moved from this seat in some time, and his thighs shake from the static of inaction. Chan had gotten a massage license in their third semester of university, and he used to knead out the tension from Changbin’s thighs after a routine workout that often went too far, but Changbin doesn’t worry about overdoing workouts anymore. The muscles in Changbin’s thighs had properly locked up three years ago, and he stopped going to physical therapy after a month. He hasn’t been to the gym in over two years.

A delayed bead of water rolls down the side of his cup, and he watches as it breaks the surface tension of the puddle, another small stream of water escaping and dripping delicately down the table’s unpolished grain. He wonders if his old pen carvings from high school still stain the tables of this small diner. He supposes that the tables were replaced with the recent management change.

“I’m glad you got to study what you wanted, in the end. I’m sure it must have been a hassle to complete those secondary credits.” Kind, _kind, why were Chan’s eyes so kind?_

There’s no more ice left floating in his cup, and he finally glances up, catching Chan’s steady gaze with a brief flicker of his own. The pool of condensation recollects on the floor, and Changbin moves his still-dry sneakers as he shifts stiffly.

“I got help from my advisors, it wasn’t really a hassle,” Changbin’s voice is gravel and his throat blisters, but he doesn’t sip from his plastic diner cup, “I just got lucky.”

“Don’t just chalk that up to luck, you deserved it.”

_Raise your voice at me._

Chan’s smile lifts the left corner of his mouth, a phantom of a familiar gesture that was once directly at Changbin more times than he can count; Chan’s dimple seems to have deepened with age, but all Changbin wants is to swiftly look away. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of this. Chan continues on speaking, either ignorant to the cotton expanding in Changbin’s head, or dutifully ignoring it.

“Then again, you were always good at throwing your heart into what you loved.”

_Remind me of my mistakes, I know you want to._

Sometimes, when Changbin squints just enough to see clearly in the dark of his bedroom, after he places his glasses on the nightstand—he’s already crushed them under the bridge of his nose and between the folds of his sheets one too many times—it’s quite often that he can make out slight glimmers of fading glow-in-the-dark stars poorly taped to his ceiling. In their first semester, Chan had ordered a cheap pack without the sticky putty, and instead presented a distasteful shade of green tape as a substitute. Changbin had agreed on the decor solely because Chan’s grin was brighter than anything Changbin had seen that morning, and it made something gentle flutter in the pit of his stomach. The red splotches on his neck would show up as frequent blushes over the next few years, but if Chan had noticed Changbin’s red-tipped ears that particular afternoon, he said nothing.

_Tell me about how I hurt you._

Through the grapevine—the one that Changbin knows was once a tight-knit friend group with him and Chan at the center—he learns that Chan stopped asking about him rather quickly after graduation. Jisung faded from his life soon after that also, choosing to move uptown with Chan, initially only intending to set up temporary residence before ultimately becoming Chan’s roommate of two years. Changbin swore he saw Chan at the bookstore once, but he couldn’t be sure. Chan’s sweatshirts weren’t Changbin’s anymore, and Changbin couldn’t remember Chan ever expressing a desire for blonde hair-dye, but it’s not as he would have known anyway.

The bookstore closed down months later, and Changbin had wondered if he was just particularly good at redirecting karma.

“Think it’s about time to get out of here? The server has been eyeing us for a while.”

_Ask me why I left you without a word._

Changbin’s never quick enough. Chan always finds himself coming back to this particular diner when Changbin’s contact lights up his phone at an unreasonable hour, and Changbin gladly entangles them both into a nasty, _selfish_ pattern.

“I just wanted to say,” Chan starts, gently placing his hand atop Changbin’s before they can fully rise to leave the table, just before Changbin’s knees can buckle painfully at the inevitable haste at which he’s going to leave this diner, “that it’s good to see you. It’s been a while, but maybe- you think we can do this again?”

_I keep breaking your heart, and you’re going to let me ruin you over and over again._

**Author's Note:**

> interpret this piece any way you'd like, because i sure have no idea lmao
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/izayashu)


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